The Strange man
700 Words
chapter 6
Zainab pov
I feel it before I understand it.
The air in the office changes—subtle, like pressure before rain. Conversations soften.
Keyboards slow. My chest tightens for no reason I can explain, the same way it did the first night in the forest, when the world seemed to pause around me.
Rowan is standing near the glass wall when it happens.
He doesn’t move, but something in him sharpens. His shoulders lock, his jaw tightening just enough that I notice. His eyes lift—not to me, but to the man who has just stepped into the office.
I’ve never seen him before.
He looks ordinary at first glance. Elderly. Calm.
Dressed simply. But the moment his gaze sweeps across the room, my skin prickles. It’s not fear. It’s recognition without memory.
His eyes land on me.
And he freezes.
The silence stretches too long to be polite.
Something in my chest pulls—harder than it ever has. I press my palm against my desk, grounding myself, because suddenly it feels like I’m standing at the edge of something deep and endless.
The man smiles.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Knowingly.
“Well,” he says softly, his voice carrying without effort, “so this is where you’ve been hiding.”
My heart stutters.
Rowan moves then—fast, controlled, stepping between us like instinct took over before thought.
His presence blocks the man’s line of sight, but it doesn’t break the pull. If anything, it tightens.
“Leave,” Rowan says, low and deadly.
The man chuckles. “You feel it too, don’t you?” His gaze flicks back to me, sharp now. Assessing. Weighing. “The bond is awake.”
My breath catches.
Bond?
Rowan’s hand clenches at his side. “Not here.”
The man sighs, almost disappointed. “You always did think you could outrun fate.” Then his eyes soften—not with mercy, but with certainty.
“Be careful, girl. Some connections don’t ask permission.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away.
The pressure lifts. Sound rushes back into the room. Someone laughs nervously. Phones ring. Life resumes as if nothing just happened.
But I can’t move.
Rowan turns to me slowly.
Up close, he feels different now. He always felt powerful—intimidating, controlled—but this is something else. Something ancient. My body reacts before my mind does, leaning toward him, craving the steadiness of his presence like it’s oxygen.
“You okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice is quiet. Controlled. But real.
I nod, even though my hands are shaking. “Who was that?”
His eyes search my face, like he’s deciding how much damage honesty would cause. “Someone who should not have spoken to you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His mouth tightens. “It’s the safest one.”
The word safe lands between us like a lie wrapped in silk.
I don’t push. I should—but I don’t. Guilt curls in my stomach, heavy and familiar, like I’ve already done something wrong just by standing here.
“All I know,” I say quietly, “is that when he looked at me… it felt like he already knew me.”
Rowan exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself.
“He does. Just not the way you think.”
The silence stretches again, thick with everything unsaid.
“Zainab,” he says, softer now, “if at any point you start to feel… overwhelmed, you come to me.”
The words should feel comforting.
Instead, they feel like a promise I don’t remember agreeing to.
That night, sleep refuses to come.
Every time I close my eyes, I see golden eyes in the dark. Hear leaves crunching under invisible weight. Feel the ache of something missing—something taken and not returned.
Across the city, I don’t know that Rowan stands at the edge of his territory, the moon carving silver into his skin, his wolf pacing violently beneath his ribs.
She knows, the wolf snarls.
Not yet, Rowan answers.
She feels it.
I won’t ruin her.
The wolf laughs, low and dangerous.
You already have.
- Writer
